


Doppelganger

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-08
Updated: 2002-04-08
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Walter Skinner gets a second chance





	Doppelganger

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Doppelganger

## Doppelganger

#### by Claire Dobbin

Title: Doppelganger  
Author: Claire Dobbin  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website: http://www.slashcity.net/~claired/  
Date Archived: 04/08/02  
Category: Unclassified     
Pairing: Skinner/Krycek         
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers:   
Permission to Archive: Yes  
Series or Sequel/Prequel: Stand alone  
Notes:   
Warnings: None  
Disclaimer: Only the original story idea is mine  
Summary: Walter Skinner gets a second chance

* * *

Doppelganger 

Walter Skinner leaned back into the booth in an uncharacteristic slouch and idly observed the comings and goings of the other restaurant patrons while he waited for his luncheon date to arrive. He was not looking forward to seeing Ben again and was only keeping the engagement out of a sense of decency that wouldn't let him dump the guy by phone or email. It was the least he could do to tell the man face of face. Ben was attractive and witty and good in bed. Skinner had enjoyed their time together. God knows the sex had been more than welcome, but it was becoming clear that Ben was reading something into the relationship that wasn't there and it wasn't fair to let him get in any deeper. 

"Hi Walter," Ben's deep, warm voice broke into his reverie and Skinner straightened and looked up at him, his expression remaining blank. 

The man stood slightly taller than Skinner's own height. Dressed impeccably and groomed to perfection, well educated and in great physical shape, he was everything Walter Skinner should be looking for in a partner. 

Strange, Skinner mused, how the things that are good for us are seldom the things we want. 

The smile on Ben's handsome, tanned face faltered as he sat down. "Uh-oh," Ben said in his typically intuitive way, "I'm picking up unwelcome vibes here, Walter. What is it?" 

Skinner glanced away, too uncomfortable to look into the man's face, while he said what had to be said. 

"Ben, it's been good between us but I'm concerned that your idea of where this may be heading and mine are out of sync. I don't want to hurt -" 

"Too late, Walter," Ben interrupted. "But thank you for the concern. You're right, it has been good and I believe it could be even better. But for that to happen you'd have to been able to get 'Alex' out of your head. Something you're clearly not ready for." He smiled faintly when, at the name Alex, Skinner turned sharply back to look at him. 

"Oh yes, Walter, Alex has been with us since the beginning, though at first I couldn't tell from the dreams if you love or hate him. Maybe it's both, but I guess on balance it comes down on the side of love in one of its permutations." 

Skinner was dumbstruck. 

Ben fingered the edge of the elaborate menu that lay on the linen tablecloth in front of him. "When you asked me here to lunch I should have known; couples only come here when they are making a commitment or breaking up. But I must be a true optimist because deep down I hoping that." his voice trailed off when a waiter briskly approached their table. 

"What may I bring you gentlemen to drink?" he inquired. Ben looked from him back to Walter. "Nothing for me, thank you," he said. "Having lost my appetite, I'm going to skip lunch. I'll say goodbye, Walter. If things change you know where to find me." He stood up and walked calmly from the room. Skinner watched his dignified retreat with shame and self-loathing. Sometimes he just didn't understand himself. Here he was letting a decent, caring man, who clearly had strong feelings for him, walk away in favour of a first class, gilt-edged bastard - correction, a dead, first class, gilt-edged bastard - who would have gutted him as quick as look at him, given the right instructions from his handlers. 

Time for therapy, Walter, he thought bitterly, before it's too fucking late. 

The waiter cleared his throat quietly and Skinner looked back at him. 

"Jack Daniels," he said, his voice sounding flat. "Make it a double." The waiter melted away and Skinner tried to process what had just happened. He didn't get very far. It was all too tangled and painful and when the waiter returned with his drink he barked, "Bring me another," before he drank the first in one gulping swallow. 

He had enough sense to linger over the second and even ordered a plate of pasta, which he picked at half-heartedly while he contemplated his life. It didn't make a pretty picture. It was definitely not the rosy future he'd foreseen when he graduated from high school, with the world at his feet. Looking back, the reality of his life had been mostly disappointment and unhappiness. In fairness, a lot of it was self-inflicted, like the disastrous marriage to Sharon which had blighted her life as well as his own. Whatever the warmth of his feelings for her and the friendship they shared, it couldn't satisfy the man within and inevitably it became exposed for the lie it was. 

As for the rest of it, Vietnam, the X Files.that was how the dice fell sometimes in the crap game of life. You took your turn, watched them roll and got on with it. He was strong; he'd handled it all, the brutality, the bargaining, the betrayal of others and himself. But what he couldn't handle was Alex's betrayal. It had cut him to the core at the time and the ugly wound lay open still, its cruel ache undiminished 

A glimpse of ebony hair or a flash of green eyes was all it took to set his pulse racing. It happened every time, and every time, a second later he would fall into the well of despair he carried around inside himself. A well that seemed to be getting deeper and blacker with every day that passed. 

A couple strolled past his booth, both laughing at some unheard joke. Instinctively he found himself gazing at them, resenting their good humour. The taller blond man went ahead to slide into the booth opposite Skinner's. His companion remained standing while the maitre d' pulled out the chair for him and took his coat. Skinner ignored the familiarity of the man's demeanour and homed in on the shock of ebony hair. His pulse raced. Then the man glanced over his shoulder at the retreating figure of the maitre d' and the voice that haunted his dreams called out, "Excuse me, I think I left my cell phone in my coat pocket." 

It was too much to take in and Skinner sat frozen as he watched the maitre d' return with the coat. Unexpectedly, as he checked the pockets of the coat the man turned fully to face Skinner, obviously aware of the intense stare being directed at him. Green eyes flashed and Skinner's stomach lurched so hard he thought he was going to be sick. 

The look Krycek gave him was disinterested and vaguely annoyed and when he found the cell phone his eyes flicked away to smile his thanks at the maitre d'. Then, completely ignoring Skinner, he straightened in his chair and returned his attention to his companion. Walter Skinner had often heard the expression 'seeing red' but that was the first time he truly understood what it meant. It was the best and only way he could describe the rage that thundered through him. Before consciously thinking about it he was on his feet, pushing the table to one side so hard its feet dug into the polished parquet floor and the dishes and silverware rattled and fell askew. A water glass rolled over the edge and plunged to the floor where it exploded into a thousand gleaming shards with a sound that drew the attention of every person in the room. 

Skinner was oblivious to them all, bar one. Krycek's disdainful expression quickly vanished when Skinner's powerful hands grabbed hold of his jacket lapels and hauled him to his feet to bring them eye-to-eye. 

"You fucking bastard," Skinner spat at him. Krycek swallowed hard and spoke the man at the table behind him. "Mark, call the cops." 

Skinner sneered at him and transferred his burden to one hand so he could pull out his FBI badge and display it. "That won't be necessary, Mark," Skinner hissed at him, "the cops are here already." 

He became aware of the developing unease around him and the approach of the flustered maitre d'. 

"Sir, what's going on here?" the man asked sotto voce, clearly horrified by the scene before him. 

Skinner glanced at him and calmed himself. Above all he did not want anyone to call the cops. He needed to get control of the situation. Using the most reasonable voice he could muster he spoke to the maitre d' and Krycek's 'date'. "I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner and I'm arresting this known and dangerous felon." 

They both looked at Krycek, who had begun to squirm in the uncomfortable grip. Skinner tightened it, regretting his decision to no longer carry a set of cuffs. 

"Don't listen to him, Mark," Krycek said defiantly, "he must be some kind of fucking nutcase. Call the cops." 

Skinner frowned at his captive, bewildered by the man's sudden fascination with Washington's finest. He spoke to the maitre d', "I know of at least four outstanding federal warrants on his man; now, I need to take him to a secure location so I can contact my office for assistance. Do you have somewhere I can use?" 

As he made the request he pulled out his service weapon and placed its muzzle at the back of Krycek's head. 

"Of course, I.er.you can use my office," the maitre d' spluttered, wanting only to remove this unedifying spectacle from his dining room. He led the way towards the main entrance. Skinner turned his gaze on the hapless Mark, who looked about to throw up. 

"I'm going to have to detain you too, sir," he ordered quietly. "Please follow the maitre d'." 

As meek as a lamb Mark left the security of the booth and headed towards the door. 

Skinner jabbed the gun viciously into Krycek's neck and hissed, "Move or I'll kill you where you stand, Krycek." 

The man stumbled forward as he said, "You've made a mistake, my name is Donnan, Christopher Donnan." 

"Sure it is, Alex, you have so many to chose from. Now move." Another jab and Krycek was reluctantly following in the footsteps of the maitre d' and his friend. 

"You are making the biggest fucking mistake of your life," Krycek threatened. "I have an excellent lawyer, so not only are you going to be kissing your career goodbye, but I'm going to sue you and the fucking FBI for every cent I can get." 

Skinner stepped up the pace as he retorted, "Great performance, Krycek, but take my advice and save it for the judge." 

A few seconds later they were all standing in the restaurant's admin area and Skinner looked at Mark. "You stay here," he indicated the seating area and the young man sat down. "Is that your office?" he asked the maitre d'. 

"Yes, Sir." 

"I'm going to be using it. I need to call my people. Keep an eye on him." He indicated the seated man and used his gun hand to open the heavy mahogany door. He propelled Krycek into the inner office and closed the door behind them with a resounding slam. 

"Assume the position," he barked, tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants. 

"What?" Krycek asked in an insolent tone of voice. 

"You heard me, you bastard," Skinner yelled and backhanded him hard enough to knock him against the wall. 

Blood spurted from the man's lower lip and for the first time he looked frightened. Skinner ignored the growing unease he felt about the whole situation and used Krycek's sudden fear to manhandle him into position against the wall. He took out the wallet and found it, unsurprisingly, full of identification in the name of Christopher Donnan, then he began a rough and degrading search of the man's person. 

It was only when he ran his hands down the man's left arm that he realized what he should have noticed immediately. It was warm and responsive and all too human. 

He gasped in a ragged breath and turned the man towards him. The face was wrong, too. It was as young as it had been the first time he had ever laid eyes on Krycek. 

"Jesus, who are you?" he asked, feeling like he had run a marathon. The man wiped the blood away from his mouth and said, "I'm who I said I was, Christopher Donnan, you asshole." 

* * *

Skinner stood motionless behind the one-way mirror, staring at the still figure of the man lying with his head on his arms on the interrogation room table. He had been in that position for over twenty minutes and Skinner realised he must have fallen asleep. Little wonder, since they had questioned him for fourteen hours straight. The man, Skinner found it difficult to name him, must be totally exhausted. 

He was on the verge of exhaustion himself but he couldn't let go. He needed to understand what was going on, make the pieces fit in some coherent way, before he could sleep. In the reflection he saw the door open and watched Mulder enter, carrying two mugs of coffee. 

"Come sit down, Walter, I have the results," Mulder told him. He took one last look at the sleeping figure and turned away, wearily taking his glasses off to rub at the bridge of his nose. He placed them on the table as he sat down and picked up the coffee mug. He took a deep swallow before looking up at Mulder. 

"They confirm he's Krycek, right?" he asked. 

"Unequivocally," Mulder replied, pushing the grey file towards him. "The DNA, like the fingerprints, comes up a perfect match." Skinner ignored the file and looked into Mulder's tired eyes. "Except he can't be." 

"The doctors are agreed on that. Physically, he's ten years younger than he should be. Dental and medical records from his time at the Bureau don't match and most importantly we know -" 

"We know I put a bullet in his head," Skinner interrupted. Mulder nodded and took a sip of coffee. 

"Since he's completely human that leaves only one possibility," Skinner said. "He's a clone." 

"That's what it looks like," Mulder agreed. "The lab is picking up some strange genetic sequences in his code and although he seems to have vivid and intact memories of childhood and adolescence we can find no records for him pre-1997." 

Silence descended on the room as they both leaned back and drank their coffee, trying to come to terms with the fact that the first, proof positive, functioning human clone rested within the next room, completely oblivious of his origin. 

Abruptly the door opened and the Director himself walked in. He glanced dismissively at the two of them and strode to the mirror. The way he looked at Krycek reminded Skinner of the way he'd seen people stare at the stuffed two-headed dog in the carnival when he was a child. It made him bristle and he stood up and walked to the glass, taking a defensive position between his boss and his prisoner. 

"Is this shit ever going to end?" the Director asked impatiently. Skinner bristled further. "Define shit, Sir?" Skinner asked coolly. The antipathy between the two men brought Mulder to his feet. "We have it under control, Sir. It looks like this man is a forgotten remnant of one of the Consortium's scientific research programs. He's had no connection with the actual conspiracy. He seems to be a blank they created, then imprinted with a new identity, probably just to see if it could be done. Then they turned him loose to see if he'd survive. He poses no threat, Sir, not least because his programmers are no longer alive." 

The Director looked at him with undisguised dislike. Spooky Mulder's success in exposing and destroying the Consortium had turned him into a true 'untouchable' but it hadn't altered the way the powers that be in the establishment viewed him, quite the reverse. The difference was he now led a charmed life, protected by the people who had once tried to destroy him and his work, while his X Files department enjoyed an unquestioned budget that had Bureau auditors seeing therapists. 

Scully and Skinner, by association, were afforded similar status and protection. It was little enough reward for the sacrifices they had made and Skinner could tell from the expression on the Director's face that it was begrudged. Glancing back for a moment at the sleeping 'Krycek', the Director turned to Skinner. 

"Whatever this is, Assistant Director, you brought it in, so it's your problem. Deal with it." Two seconds later the door slammed behind him and Skinner looked at Mulder in exasperation. 

"Why the fuck is it my problem?" he barked. 

Mulder nodded towards the glass and said calmly, "He's somebody's problem, Walter. You heard the way the Director talked about him. They'll turn him into a freak show in some laboratory unless we do something about it. You know my thoughts on Krycek, Walter, but this creation bears no fault." 

"I see him as a person, Mulder," Skinner told him. 

"I know you do, that's why I think he should be your responsibility." Mulder went to pick up the grey file. "I'm going to bury this, and Walter, make sure you send any expenses to my department." They shared a weary smile before Mulder continued, "Give me an hour, then we'll take him home." 

Skinner's Lexus drew up and parked outside an apartment block in a fashionable downtown area of DC. Mulder leaned across and firmly shook the dozing man awake. 

"You're home, Christopher," he said. 

Christopher grunted and sat up abruptly, trying to smooth his hopelessly crumpled designer silk suit. He stumbled out of the car and taking out his keys led the way to his apartment. They followed him inside and watched as he flicked on the lights and called, "Mark." 

"He's not here, Kry.Christopher. When my Agents drove him here he packed and left. He said to give you this," Skinner took an envelope out of his pocket and held it out towards the shocked man. Ignoring it, Christopher walked to the bedroom. They could hear the sound of drawers being opened and slammed back into place. When he returned Christopher took the envelope from Skinner's hand and tore it into four pieces before dropping it in the garbage. 

"Well, you've succeeding in totally screwing my life, so you can go now," he ground out. 

"It's not that simple, Christopher," Mulder began. 

"It's exactly that simple. Just walk out the door and leave me the fuck alone. The only time you'll ever hear from me again is the harassment suit that will be landing on your desks in the very near future. And by the way, it's Mr. Donnan to you." 

Skinner lost patience at that point. "Mr. Donnan, go pack a bag. You are being placed in a witness protection program. Now, this location is probably safe enough but we can't be one hundred percent sure so I'm giving you five minutes, then ready or not we're out of here." He moved the edge of his coat far enough back to reveal his holstered gun. 

"You're serious, aren't you?" Christopher asked, ashen faced. 

"Completely," Mulder assured him, "and the clock is ticking." Looking numb, the young man walked back into the bedroom and the sound of more drawers opening could be heard from the room. Skinner found himself moving around the apartment. There were gaps on the shelves where Mark had hastily removed his belongings. Of the personal items that remained Skinner was drawn to the photographs. It was eerie. The youthful snapshots and family portraits had to be those belonging to Alex Krycek, all carefully doctored, no doubt, to fit the artificial life created for this man. It was moments like this when he sensed the truly evil nature of the Consortium. He began to dread telling the truth to Christopher, who, whatever his origins, was as human and as breakable as he was himself. 

"He needs to be told, Walter." Mulder spoke softly beside him. Skinner looked over into the compassionate face. "Apart from the medical point of view and the security considerations, the man has a right to know his origins." He put his hand on Skinner's shoulder before continuing. 

"I know Krycek was a complicated issue for you Walter, but try to set it aside. Christopher will have enough to deal with as it is." Skinner nodded at him. It was true; whatever Skinner's trouble, it was nothing to what lay in store for Christopher Donnan. Footsteps behind them drew their attention and they turned to find Christopher standing close by, a small suitcase in his hand. They moved to flank him as the three of them left the apartment and walked the short distance back to the car. Within two hours they were locked into the secure house in Virginia and Christopher Donnan, unknowingly, had closed the door on one life and opened the door to a new one. 

"Can you settle him, Walter?" Mulder asked. "I need to check on Scully and William." 

"Sure," Skinner said and went in search of their reluctant charge. He found him in the kitchen making coffee. 

"Not a good idea, Mr. Donnan," Skinner advised. "You need to sleep." 

"Either I get an explanation now or I'm out of here. I've had enough of this bullshit," he said with cold determination before beginning to search through the cabinets for the things he needed. 

"You cannot leave this house without our assistance," Skinner warned. "Try and you'll be knee deep in Federal Agents. And I don't know about you, but I could do without that tonight." 

"A simple explanation will take care of the problem, Mr. Skinner," Christopher bargained. 

"I wish there was a simple explanation, Mr. Donnan," Skinner told him, "but I'm afraid there's only a very complicated and unpleasant one, and you have a right to it. I guess it might as well be now, the light of day won't make it any more palatable." 

He shrugged out of his heavy coat and jacket and hung them on the rail by the back door, before opening the fridge to take out the milk carton and place it on the table. 

By the time the coffee was made, Mulder had finished his call and was sitting at the table with the other two. 

"Well?" Christopher prompted impatiently. 

They told him then, weariness removing any diplomatic gloss from the account. Christopher/Alex sat stony faced and listened, asking only the occasional question or looking at the evidence they placed before him from a number of classified files. 

When Mulder finished his lengthy explanation, they both sat back and waited for the man's reaction. It was not at all what they expected. Despite his earlier behaviour, there was no disbelief and no rage. Instead he laid his hand on the files and said calmly, "This may explain some things. My memories come and go. I've had some medical problems. I need to think." 

He suddenly covered his mouth and made a dash for the bathroom. Skinner and Mulder looked at each other as they listened to the sound of the man trying to throw up on an empty stomach. Skinner reluctantly trailed after him into the bathroom carrying a glass of water. Waiting till the man had finished heaving he picked him up from the floor and set him on the toilet seat. After wiping a cool washcloth across his face, he held the glass to his lips and encouraged him to take a few sips. 

"You need to sleep and no arguing this time," he said in a fixed voice. 

With little resistance Christopher allowed himself to be led to the most secure bedroom in the house where Skinner seated him on the bed, removed his shoes and, laying him back, covered him with a comforter. He walked to the door and dimmed the lights. 

"Try to get some sleep," he said, more gently than he intended, before he closed the door. Less than two hours later the relentless screaming had him out of his bed and stumbling down the corridor to Alex's room before he came fully awake. He burst through the door and turned up the lights to find the young man literally crawling the walls in an attempt to escape something. 

"It's okay, Alex," he murmured, "you're safe now." 

He wrapped his arms round the trembling man and guided him back to the bed where he laid them both down. The change in muscle tension in the body he cradled told him the man was coming awake. 

"It's okay to wake up, Alex," he crooned into the man's ear. 

"Alex?" the croaky voice asked, and Skinner realised his tactless mistake. 

"Jesus, I'm sorry Christopher." he blundered to a halt. 

"It's okay," Alex/Christopher mumbled. "You see, I am Alex. The dreams tell me that." 

"Then that's who you are," Skinner agreed, tightening his hold to show his acceptance. 

"Now try to sleep." 

The lights dimmed as he spoke and he looked up to watch Mulder lift the fallen comforter from the floor and tuck it around the both of them. He wasn't the only one offering acceptance that night and his grateful glance at Mulder was acknowledged with a silent nod. Unbelievably, he followed Alex into exhausted sleep so quickly he didn't even hear the sound of the bedroom door closing. 

* * *

Over the next few months Skinner's transition from being Alex's guardian to becoming his companion happened so gradually it was impossible to trace. The true discontinuity came the night they moved into Skinner's apartment. It was late and they were tired and, despite the fact they'd spent every night in the safe house sharing the same bed, there had been no discussion about sleeping arrangements. They climbed the stairs and Skinner stopped outside the guest room. 

"You can have this room or you can bunk in with me as usual," he offered. 

"Is that your best offer?" Alex asked. 

"What did you have in mind?" Skinner asked in reply. 

"This," Alex said, catching Skinner by the nape of the neck to pull him into a desperate kiss that Skinner returned in kind. They tumbled awkwardly towards the door of the master bedroom, each taking it in turn to pin the other to the wall, the better to ravish the mouth beneath. Reaching the open doorway they stumbled inside, falling to their knees at the sudden loss of support. Alex's hands moved to Skinner's fly, where he fumbled open the belt, popped the button and dragged down the zipper. A groan escaped Skinner's lips when Alex's sure hand slipped inside his boxers and pulled out his fully erect cock, but he held Alex's head in position and immediately resumed feeding on his mouth. 

It took all of Alex's strength to push Skinner onto his back and hold him in position there when he pulled out of the kiss and moved down towards the prize that lay hard and pulsing in his left hand. He bent to kiss the darkened tip, then slowly swirled his tongue around it, causing Skinner to growl loudly, his hips lifting off the rug. The big man's hand threaded itself roughly through his hair and held fast. Alex glanced up to find Skinner's eyes tightly closed, his forehead deeply furrowed and his lower lip caught between his teeth. The man was too needy and strung out for the act to be prolonged. He needed a quick release. 

So Alex took him fully into his hot, wet mouth and moved his head in random, complicated patterns to provide the stimulation his lover needed. He could feel the tension increase in the balls cradled in his right hand. Little more was needed, for either Skinner or himself, so he reached down to his own groin and stroked hard with the heel of his hand against his trapped erection while he sucked strongly on the cock head. Skinner began to thrust and Alex relaxed his throat to welcome each deep penetration. Within seconds Skinner's movements became frenzied as he laboured towards climax. When it came it was with an intensity he hadn't experienced for a very long time. It empowered and renewed him and he bellowed in triumph for all the world to hear. 

The sound of his lover's joyous shout and the feel of his life force pouring out of him was all it took to trigger Alex's release. He writhed against his own hand and revelled in the feeling of wetness spreading out from his cock. In his mouth Skinner softened and reluctantly Alex released the sensitive organ and looked up at his lover from under lowered lashes. The expression on Skinner's face made him want to cry and he bit down hard on his lip in an attempt to control the urge. Between them they struggled into each other's arms where Alex found Skinner also was teetering on the verge emotional meltdown. They shared a few hitching sobs until the comfort of each other's closeness soothed the raw nerves and sealed their new connection. 

They lay together like that for a very long time, but eventually the discomfort of the hard floor could no longer be ignored and Skinner pulled Alex to his feet and undressed them both. They slid together into the big bed and moved back into position, each having found his right place in the world. 

* * *

A year to the day of their fateful meeting in the restaurant Skinner left the office much earlier than usual. There had been no discussion between himself and Alex regarding anything as formal as an anniversary, but he sensed in the younger man a growing awareness of the imminence of the day and as it approached Alex became quieter and more attentive, if that were possible. He knew without being told that Alex would be waiting for him at home. Driving towards the small, two-bedroom house in Alexandria they now called home, Skinner found himself smiling. A whole year of being cosseted and loved to distraction by Alex was definitely worth celebrating and he intended to throw himself into the celebration with a heart and a hand. 

Waiting in the fridge he had a bottle of vintage champagne and a jar of Alex's favourite caviar, resting beside them was a bowl of red Californian cherries marinated in liqueur, ready to be fed one by one into his lover's luscious mouth. Skinner chuckled aloud at the thought. Being with Alex had tapped into a vein of romance and sensuality he didn't know he possessed. He was even more surprised to discover how much he enjoyed it. That jogged his memory and he checked his inside breast pocket anxiously. Yes, the rings were still there. A tad presumptuous perhaps, but worth the risk. 

Alex was waiting for him, in their bed, naked. The soft, sexy strains of a jazz quintet filled the room as Alex stripped off his clothes and began making love to him. If he had felt cherished before, Alex's attentions that afternoon escalated to worship. His body felt like it was being played by a maestro whose sole intent was his pleasure, and when he came the second time it left him floating in a sensual haze. Sweet, liqueur flavoured lips drew him back to reality and he looked up into Alex's smiling face. 

"That was - indescribable," he murmured, huskily. 

"Pretty good description," Alex chuckled as he encouraged him to sit up. "Let's eat." 

He climbed off the bed and returned with a tray bearing a feast. In between kisses and fondling, they fed each other from it playfully until their hunger was satisfied. When they finished Alex lifted it away to place it on the dresser. Skinner watched the graceful body move away from him and the momentary separation made him ache. 

"Alex," he called, "there's something I want to ask -" Alex turned back to him and held his finger to his lips, requesting silence. Skinner looked at him quizzically. 

"Humour me," Alex asked, his eyes darkening. 

He turned back to the dresser and opened a drawer from which he took a black silk bag that he carried back to the bed, never breaking eye contact with Skinner. Climbing up onto the bed again he arranged the pillows and Skinner until he was happy with their positions. The comforter he folded and placed over the footboard. Picking up the black bag he untied its drawstring and tipped the contents out onto the bed. 

When Skinner saw them he drew in a sudden shaky breath. Four lengths of white silken rope lay coiled round each other on the pale blue cotton sheet. The sight of them made him deeply uneasy, not because he was prudish, God knows they had done just about everything possible to each other over the past year and relished every second of it, but because it just didn't feel right on this day of all days. 

He looked doubtfully up at Alex as he whispered, "I don't want to disappoint you but there is no way - " 

Alex placed a finger on his lips as said softly, "I have no expectations of you my love, other than you trust me." Skinner looked at the open, anxious face, and nodded his consent. He didn't like this unexpected turn of events but he steeled himself to give Alex what he needed. 

One by one his arms and legs were tied to the sturdy bedposts with an exceeding gentleness that belied the tightness of the fastening. When Alex checked his handiwork and found it acceptable he moved up to straddle Skinner's chest, where he bent down to take a demanding kiss before opening the nightstand drawer from which he drew a fine, multi-coloured silk scarf. With hesitant reluctance he placed it across Skinner's mouth and tied it firmly. It was uncomfortable and Skinner had to struggle not to fight against the imposition. Alex ran a hand down Skinner's cheek and across his jaw by way of apology. Then he settled back on his haunches, making sure his weight was not resting fully on his lover's prone body. 

By then Skinner was desperately worried and he searched Alex's unhappy face for some kind of explanation. He didn't have long to wait. Alex closed his eyes and drew a shaky, ragged breath before opening them again to look at the man he loved more than life itself. 

"Skinner," he said, simply, his face and his voice subtly altered. 

As if a veil had been lifted, Skinner understood immediately. Before him, resting on his naked body, was Alex Krycek. 

The rage that consumed him was boundless. It lent him a strength that sorely tested the bonds holding him. And when they remained secure the damage was inflicted instead on his own skin and muscles where they strained against the ropes. 

Alex cried and begged him to stop, his hands soothing the heaving chest, his lips kissing the tearing skin at wrist and ankle. Neither of them knew how long the struggle lasted, other than it seemed endless, but at last sheer exhaustion took its toll and Skinner sighed deeply and went limp. Alex collapsed on top of him, similarly exhausted, their combined sweat cooling rapidly in the darkening room. Alex reached down and pulled the comforter over their bodies. For a long time there was only silence, then Alex began to murmur. At first Skinner tried to resist the insidious words, but the gag did its job and he had no choice but to listen. 

".I was dead, and yet I wasn't. I kept seeing you pulling the trigger. Over and over. I thought I was mad and that after death came some infinite insanity. I wanted to die completely. To be extinguished as though I had never existed. But like everything else they robbed me of that. I don't know how long I was in the tank and when I came out of it I genuinely didn't know who I was. The memories came back very slowly. And even then I wasn't sure if I was Alex Krycek or Christopher Donnan. He was an alias I had been working on for over four years, in preparation for my 'retirement' if I lived so long. His life seemed real to me. Wishful thinking maybe. When the Consortium crashed I was able to escape from the lab. The Donnan persona was ready and waiting. I slipped into it so fully I began to believe in it. I looked at my body and it wasn't the body of Alex Krycek any more. That's the only thing I have to be grateful to them for. I began to convince myself that if my body could be changed, then my mind could be, too. And if I could be a different person who was worthy of you, I could be with you. Christopher Donnan was worthy of you and he wanted you as much as I did. I knew you weren't happy. I'd been watching you for nearly a year. I knew Christopher could make you happy. I wanted you to be happy. The day I walked into that restaurant it wasn't planned. It just happened. I took it as a sign. Jesus, it was so hard to pretend not to know you. All I could do was go with it. And then that night I told you I was Alex and you accepted me. Walter, that was the sweetest moment of my life when you took me in your arms and told me it was okay to be Alex." 

He broke off the flow of consciousness to get control of his emotions. 

".I had no intention then of telling you the truth, Walter, but the half truth is no longer enough. I need you to know and if it means that this year is all we have then so be it. Can you forgive me? Forgive Alex? Can I be Alex? You'll have to make the decision. Right now I just want to be close to you for a little while longer.I'm so sorry love, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

The mumbling voice ceased and quiet reigned in the darkened room. Gradually the breathing of the two exhausted men settled into the rhythm of sleep. 

Walter woke to brightness and pain. Every muscle ached and his bladder screamed for release. He eased himself into a sitting position and tried to focus his thoughts. When he saw Alex, fully clothed and sleeping in the chair across the room, all the unhappy memories of the previous day slotted into place. He looked at the dressings on his wrists and ankles, and a ripple of the anger he'd felt shuddered through him. But it was only a token of what he'd felt; the real anger was gone and all that remained was the plaintive voice asking for forgiveness. 

He stumbled into the bathroom and relieved himself, then splashed cold water on his face. He took his robe from the hook on the back of the door and pulled it on. When he emerged from the bathroom it was to find Alex's eyes on him. He dragged himself back to the bed and sat down wearily, scrubbing his hands across his face. 

Reaching out a hand he said, "Come here, Alex. Bring my jacket." Without hesitation Alex stood, picked up the jacket from where it lay folded across the back of the chair and walked to him. He took hold of the offered hand and sat down beside the older man. 

"Take the packet out of my inside pocket," Skinner requested. 

He did so. 

"Open it," Skinner continued. 

Tearing off the top of the packet, Alex glanced inside then looked over at Skinner, two lines furrowing the smooth skin above his nose. 

"You need to pay the price for what you have done," Skinner said, his voice solemn, "and yesterday you gave me the power. So I've made my decision. Even though I forgive you, Alex Krycek, I've decided to condemn you to a life sentence. To be served here at my side." It took a little while for the significance of the words to sink in, but when it did Alex's face lit up as though Skinner had switched on a light. He tipped the rings out onto the palm of his hand and picked up the slightly larger one reverently. Skinner held out his left hand and watched as Alex slipped the gold band into position. He then copied the action and Alex looked disbelievingly at the symbols of commitment they had exchanged. 

Skinner leaned across to feather kiss the smiling lips of his beloved. Alex kicked off his shoes and together they lay down, content within the warm embrace of each other's arms. 

finis 

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If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Claire Dobbin 


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